To An Unknown God
by meldahlie
Summary: Treason and partings on the stairs, but is there really anything to those old myths of the Golden Age of Narnia? One-shot, pre-PC.


To an unknown god

 _~:~:~_

"Gwen! Gwen!"

In the Telmarine royal castle at Beaversdam, a young man in full riding costume hurried up a narrow spiral staircase, buff coat flapping and spurs jingling in his haste. Ahead of him, the green and silver skirt of one of the Queen's Maid Attendants whisked around the curve of the stairs.

"Gwen!" the young man repeated, in a desperate hiss. "Wait! Just a minute! Gwen!"

At the head of the staircase, the Maid Attendant turned. "When you've publicly broken our engagement and are riding for the coast in half an hour to sail to the eastern end of the world, I don't really see what there is that I should wait for!" she snapped.

Her follower stopped abruptly a few steps down. "I wanted to say goodbye to you, Gwen," he said levelly.

She made a brief bob of a curtsey. "Goodbye, my Lord Rhoop."

"Gwen..." Lord Rhoop protested.

"What?" Gwen snapped back, her brittle, sarcastic tones braking into something hoarse and strained and heart-broken. "What? You said it. Good-bye! What else did you want to speak to me about? Your precious voyage? That's all you've spoken about, any and every time I've seen you, for all the last five weeks. You're as bad as Octavian and Mavramorn, going on and on about treasure and adventure. And now – anything else – it's over. Publicly! So you're going! And I haven't got anything to-!"

She broke off suddenly, for Lord Rhoop had taken the last three stairs in one stride to seize her by the shoulders. "Gwen," he said, his voice deep and fierce and altogether incongruous with his young beard and merry boy's eyes. "Gwen, what do you think would have happened if I hadn't agreed to sail?"

Gwen wriggled slightly under the hard grip and fierce gaze, but Rhoop did not let go. "What happened to your cousins?" he demanded in a whisper. "What happened to _the king...?"_

Gwen's face suddenly crumpled and she leaned forwards to hide it against Rhoop's shoulder. "Now what's going to happen to _you_?" she mumbled miserably.

Rhoop folded his arms round her. "Gwen, the sea doesn't _eat_ people. It's a good ship, and a good crew, and I shall be well out of the way of any stray arrows at the archery butts. We're going to find new lands – and we will. Just think at all the islands that are known already: Galma and Terebinthia and all the Lone Islands the sailors talk of. There will be more, and we'll find them, and then we'll settle them – together, dear Gwen, together! I'll come back for you."

Gwen shook her head, still buried in his shoulder. "I dream, every night … of you falling overboard and the others going on without you."

"Gwen!" At that, Rhoop lifted her head firmly off his coat. "That would never happen! Not with any nobleman, but between the seven of us!? We are friends, comrades, as good as brothers! Have been so for–" He broke into a gentler tone with a chuckle. "For almost as long as you and I have been friends, since the day you fell out of that apple tree onto my head, Gwen."

She smiled back at the memory. "Then why-?"

"Why the public scene this morning?" Rhoop filled in, guessing the change of subject. He cupped her chin gently in his hands. "Gwen, I am going away, so that – so that it won't be with me as with your cousins. There is no glory or bravery in staying to die by poison or a knife in the dark – not even the glory given to a rat in a trap. I _have_ to go – and I can't take you too, and I can't leave you here to take any danger from Miraz. He thinks he's got rid of us – if he thought I'd left..." Rhoop left the point hanging. "I will come back, Gwen," he said softly. "I will."

For one long moment, Gwen stared at him, and then she straightened up and pulled away. "You'd better," she said brightly and briskly. "Because I'll wait for you. Come..." she added, as Rhoop didn't reply. "Who else is there for me to marry, with you boys gone? That fawning Sopespian?"

Rhoop's hands dropped to his sides. "Miraz may wish you to marry," he said, the strain in his voice returning.

Gwen shook her head. "He will just have to accept that I feel a distinct vocation to stay here as a Maid Attendant and look after the Queen and-"

"Prince Caspian," Rhoop filled in carefully.

There was a pause, and then Gwen smiled a small, tight smile. "Prince Caspian," she echoed. "And _Lady_ Prunaprismia," she added, with rather more spirit and pointed emphasis. "And since neither Lady P nor the Queen like married Ladies-in-Waiting, all will be well – but if not, I shall have to take one of those Vows of Devotion to the Throne, like that Order of knights in the history books about Caspian the Conqueror!"

At that, Rhoop laughed. "Break it when I come home, won't you?"

 _When I come home..._ Gwen stood at the top of the staircase until the very last echo of his jingling spurs had faded away into silence. And then she went on standing there. _What happened to your cousins? What happened to the king?_ What had happened to the world, the safe and happy world, in which a little girl of six fell out of an apple tree onto a little boy of seven, and they were friends ever after? An 'ever after' which had always seemed as if it would be a Happily Ever After?

That world had shattered into smithereens, leaving nothing but a frail, hopeless promise. _I will come back._ They all said that. Four little words, as powerless and vain as a butterfly beating against the stone walls of the castle. Gwen stared round at the landing, and the huge stone blocks in the walls – then she froze in panic.

One of the doors on the landing stood open. And from behind it came a murmur of a voice.

Her breath was suddenly short, nay, impossible; the world cold and clammy and spinning about. For – for – Gwen's mind stammered to find words to fit the terrible realisation – neither she nor Rhoop had been any too careful in what they said! A conversation that had not only made a mockery of Rhoop's public renunciation of their engagement to Miraz this morning, but had been veritably treasonous!

The deaths of Arlian and Erimon, denounced as traitors, rushed before her eyes. And it would be so easy, so unnoticeable, to detain Rhoop and let the others sail, and then...

Gwen put out one hand, as if to ward off the unspeakable, and felt her fingers shake against the hard, cold stone. It was her fault – all her fault. She'd fled, to try and save Rhoop from the risk she had known he would take to try and say good-bye to her – but in that hurt and angry flight she hadn't noticed where she'd run. And now – and now –

She pressed her fingers harder against the wall, to try and stop this useless, panicked shaking. There was only one thing to be done and it was probably in vain, anyway. But she must – must know who it was who could not help but have overheard them. Gwen took a vast, painful breath and stepped forwards. One, two, and stop on the very threshold of the door. The voice, whoever it was, was low and quiet – all the worse – and she had to strain to make out their words.

"... and so they were crowned, in the four thrones at Cair Paravel. All the merpeople sang in honour of their new kings and queens, and there was great feasting and rejoicing. But while they were all making merry, Aslan went away, just quietly. But that wasn't the end of it, no, my lamb. They ruled well and wisely, over the land of Narnia, for whenever they had troubles or need of help and comfort, they would go and look out to the Eastern end of the world, and call on the Lion, and he would hear them..."

Gwen let out her breath with almost a laugh. She had so not noticed where she had run, she had come to the back passage of the royal nursery, and the voice was no-one other than little Prince Caspian's old nurse, telling him stories. And the nurse – Gwen smiled in relief – she was so old and little, she was surely a little deaf, as well as a little simple, telling a year-old 'lamb' like Prince Caspian folk stories like that. And even if she wasn't – her choice of tales would make it rather hard to denounce a Telmarine Lord and one of the Queen's Maids Attendant for treason.

Folk stories were not approved of in the Narnian court.

Gwen herself couldn't really see what was the harm in them. It wasn't like the stories contained anything terrible – fanciful, romantic adventures of brave kings and fair queens and animals that talked. Perhaps a little grown-up for the Prince at the moment, but harmless. Just children's tales, carrying with them the warmth and security of blankets around you and your nurse's voice rambling gently onwards, partly because that was when you heard them, and partly because that was how the tales were.

' _...whenever they had troubles or need of help and comfort...'_ Gwen smiled rather wistfully and stepped away from the door. You grow up thinking that life is safe like that, and then-? And she stopped, with a sudden tingle of an idea. They were, of course, legends, myths, made-up stories, those tales, but – but what harm would there be in pretending that they weren't? Like whistling for a wind or wishing on a star? And she'd certainly done both of those (with Rhoop) even once old enough to know that ladies didn't whistle and it was all nonsense really. Even just pretending a little help and comfort sounded a rather nice idea – and just the least bit defiantly outrageous. Gwen held her breath in consideration, and then made up her mind and darted down the stairs. They were only old legends – but it couldn't do any harm...

Looking out at the eastern end of the world was, of course, impossible. She found a quiet spot in the castle gardens, where she could see the weather vane up on the west tower to judge the direction, without anyone being able to see her. If anyone caught her playing at this, it wouldn't be a charge of treason she'd have to worry about, so much as being quite reasonably locked up for having gone mad. Gwen pushed aside the voice of reason that was still firmly suggesting that this _was_ mad. Of course it was mad! Illogical, impossible, make-believe, call it what you will, that was why she was doing it! A childish vent for over-wrought feelings, an alternative to finding a quiet corner to bawl her eyes out in! Gwen tossed her head to shake off all croakings of dull reason, and turned to face the east.

East was a flower bed, stiff and formal and most unsuited to childish imaginings. But above that – Gwen lifted up her eyes with a slight gasp. Cloud was building in the east, vast banks that would bring rain by the morning, but right now – right now were massed in towering peaks like a huge mountain range. Suddenly, this seemed more – solemn – somehow; then Gwen made herself laugh at her imaginings. So, the clouds were making an excellent picture of the Eastern end of the world. Then how did one 'call on the Lion'?

She tried saying "Aslan," but that just sounded small and flat and silly, completely unsuited to reaching to those great mountains beyond the end of the world. "Great Lion" – no, that was worse. Oh, bother it all! Gwen lost patience with herself and her formality, and flung out her arms as she might have years ago to greet Rhoop, returning unexpectedly after a day's hunting. "Aslan! Aslan! Aslan!"

Now the words went out to the end of the world! Gwen stared up into those massing, white mountains; mountains that, even make-believe as they and all this were, made you feel small and humble before them, in quite a different way from feeling silly. A kind of majestic quiet seemed to surround her, and Gwen inhaled it, softly. "Aslan," she whispered. "Keep him safe. And bring him back to me."

Odd, how random phrases should pop into one's mind. For then; and all the rest of that day; and the next; and ever after when she thought of Rhoop or that moment's quiet in the garden; the same inexplicable phrase came to mind, like the whisper of a voice.

 _Courage, dear heart._

 _~:~:~_

 _A/N: This tale is derived from 'A Time for Everything', where I inadvertently described the Queen as being in the palace gardens with Lady Mavramorn and Lady Rhoop. Now that Lady Mavramorn has had her own story, Lady Rhoop wanted to know where hers was!_

 _Oh, and there's Turkish Delight for anyone who can place the title. :)_

 _A/N 2: With many thanks to Laura Andrews, who has written a delightful little sequel to this, called "Sure as the Tide."_


End file.
